Sides
by WonderousPlaceForAnEcho
Summary: Epilogue to the Layers series. Part 8. Told from Quinn's view.


Author's Note: I need to stop writing for this little series I've stitched together. However its fun and randomly inspiration hits. Or how I like to reframe it-what to do instead of contacting an ex. Seems saner or emotionally safer. After this I'll edit my novella which is mostly done and will likely never be published because I'm only at the stage where I'll share with friends. But this story is told from 1stperson narration which I rarely do, even in my autobiographical novella (which is strange) so please note its not my go to style. Spencer is from Pretty Little Liars (favorite character even if that show is painful). Enjoy. Review if you have time. I'd appreciate it. Many points if someone can guess where the quote comes from.

* * *

"Babe, come here and look at this." Rachel calls from her office she's packing up. I can barely hear her over the music from my record player she got me for an anniversary present but she repeats louder, "babe!"

Slowly I get up after digging through my own desk and my joints crack, protesting movement and aging. Jesus Christ. I'm 31, I shouldn't be semi-falling apart. "Yeah," I saw once I reach the doorway and look down at Rachel who looks beautiful and content.

"I found something." She says with a half cheeky smile and genuinely interested eyes that intently seem like they're trying to gauge my reaction. "Well, I knew I had it, but I haven't read it in a long time." And I can feel my eyebrows raise without meaning to in curiosity. Slowly she hands it over, the movement implying it's something she values and matters to her. I take it, almost with hesitation and with the first line I know.

It's not easy and in many ways it is.

I should know it by heart. I wrote it but I'm apt to dislike it on that principle alone. And I can't stop myself because it's like someone else wrote it so I keep reading…

There's the logical side where I know it's natural to not talk to someone even when you care about them and how with time it fades. Days can pass when I don't think about you and I shrug it off knowing it's the typical, expected route. The immature part says time has already been wasted (or maybe it allowed for growth). But I can almost say with certainty you wish I would care less. The cynical thinks maybe I love a memory, that it wasn't as good as I remember. How it was lustful and passionate but unsustainable. The nostalgic side misses all the little nuisances. Your banter, smile, laugh, eyes...how you'd say oh goodness and curse like a sailor. Your ability to be raw and guarded. Well..to be honest your whole presence. The stubborn refuses to be the reason you don't have a family. I don't need to meet them and it was absurd to hold onto an antiquated idea when I just wanted you. I'm sorry to have pressured before. The hopeful believes. And maybe it's that simple. Maybe even a little self-damaging, but it's there and a little stronger than the others. How one day I'll say in person you and give a forced shrug to make it seem less...heavy and okay when the flimsy expression is probably transparent. Or maybe it'll be on the tip of my tongue as we try but stumble through a nonchalant conversation. But in reality a resounding calmness comes from wishing on the moon, not inferior stars, that you are happy as a solid person who deserves more. The dreamer side...oh the dreamer.. Even in the day thoughts go in waves. That you and I aren't linked to the impossible. How we could fall asleep together and it would be all be worth it. Silly right?

"I haven't seen you blush in a long time." Rachel says in observation and without any sense of mockery. She's just taking me in not judging me and god I love her for it. She's what I've wanted and needed in my life.

"I probably haven't and the last time I did was very likely your fault too," I say as I look at the floor then back up into warm eyes as I hold out the piece of paper. "Why do you have that? It's embarrassing."

"I keep all your writing," she says with this tone of 'of course I do, what are you crazy?' I felt myself blush deeper.

"It's embarrassing." I say with my arms across my chest. How did they get there? I recoil so much from any vulnerability I literally get in a defensive pose?

"Quinn," Rachel says gently as she smoothly comes to stand and face me. She doesn't need to be at my height to be on my level. Rachel is complicated in that way. And its only my name but its how she says it. Without placating me, caving into my instincts, bending to my moodiness.

"I've….clumsily strung words together as though I used tape and glue." I start and have to look at the floor because her eyes are so unguarded and a reminder of why she's worth loving and how different we are. "It all feels primitive, the attempt at a graceful prose and the end result feels flat."

"Lucy Quinn. This is what got us talking again." She shifts away and sets the letter on her desk to turn back and take my hand. "You realize that?" Rachel asks but knows. We haven't talked about this. How there were months we didn't talk when went our separate ways to college. Train tickets went unused and everything which had been built up through the drama of high school plateau-ed. The only way I saw her was when Santana called me, actually called me instead of texted to "come save Berry". It was one time and I felt like I was lecturing Rachel to try to create emotional distant so she wouldn't see how I wanted her to visit and wanted her to invite me to stay a few days.

"I held onto it for six months even though it felt done but incomplete." I offered up and felt Rachel squeeze my wrist she held with her other hand. A Rachel gesture I've learned to appreciate like it was tethering me, giving focus.

"So why did you send it? And finally might I add." She said to make it easier like it didn't matter I was about to discuss something I never had before now that we're engaged.

"Spencer." I said with a slight head tilt and smile.

"God love her," Rachel immediately replied sincerely. "There's a story, I can feel it. Tell me!" Her enthusiasm out in the open like she was going to be given a gift.

"Give me wine first," I smiled, not able to stop myself. This was adorable Rachel.

"Sweet Moses you're cute." She said as she pulled me down the hallway and sat me at the breakfast bar. "You're sexy all the time. Appealing without trying and maybe I'm biased but god when you're cute…"she paused in her maneuvering around the kitchen we hadn't packed up yet as she didn't make eye contact through her little speech until… "it's rare and perfect."

Slowly I took the glass of red and looked at Rachel who was practically bouncing to be told how the letter came about. For dramatic affect and because sometimes its fun to annoy Rachel I paused, swirled my glass around a few times and smirked as I drew it out.

"Quinn!"

"Okay! Miss impatient. I swear I'll do this with my vows if you don't pore yourself a glass. Drinking alone is not my idea of a fun time," I countered playfully, well aware Rachel only needed to be pushed a little to indulge as well these days. Mostly I wanted us to relax into the night.

"So…" she said and leaned against the counter after she had a sip from her own glass.

"Word pneumonia. Was how I described it to Spencer. With how expressing gets caught but has to be released so it comes in coughs and spurts. Days to months of not feeling a need to write. Half the time it was for honesty's sake." I paused and twirled the base of my glass around slowly. "And words get stuck in cognitive space which needs physical room of a literal blank page to organize thoughts. Another half is….the words get stuck, don't release. My mind felt heavier. Then it moved to my neck and tension would settle in."

Another sip of wine. This much retelling had to be paced out.

"Spencer would notice me pulling at my tendons…like my neck was a rubber band that needed to snap. A massage would follow after. She wouldn't ask if she could and I wouldn't mind," I paused for a longer intake but knew Rachel wasn't annoyed by this or even jealous. "I remember her raised eyebrows said stop it, it won't help. Let me and don't argue. It didn't bother me and to a degree it was nice to be bossed around and challenged since she's more stubborn than I am."

"That's true." Rachel cut in and softly nodded. "Its impressive," she said with lightness and a fondness that came from knowing and trusting Spencer for years now and being thankful for her.

"Anyway," I could feel my lips forming a relaxed smile, "in the middle of the massage when I would be half asleep she'd say you should talk to her. And I'd snap awake even though it was clockwork and she did it intentionally to throw me off it was expected. She'd hit my shoulder and say no," I paused to try to do my Spencer impression but we both knew I wasn't doing her justice. "You're tense again." Rachel looked at me, an edge of hurt in her eyes how she affected me, influenced me without her being present. "I remember my response."

Another sip. Oh honesty, how you hurt.

"You know Santana calls in the dark ages-Rachel and I not talking. And we both knew I was deflecting her playful demand. But Spencer didn't let me get away with it. She said something really funny." And I paused with a wide smile knowing it would drive Rachel mad in the predictable insane kind of way. Took my time with another sip to be yelled at midway through "Quinn on my god!"

"She said," oh hell my sides hurt already. "I could leave a trail of vegan food from Nyada to here. She said it with such seriousness!"

"God love her." Rachel replied happily.

"Cheers to Spencer," I said and raised my glass to have Rachel clink with mine. And so what we were already drinking and it may be bad form, its not like we're ultra-traditional people to begin with. Plus Spencer would enjoy this.

"Really, she's a good one. The woman can rip me apart in the smartest way that makes it seem like a damn psych class Rachel." I admitted with a raised voice as I narrowed my eyes at the counter. Sneaky Spencer.

"I know, I've seen it, it's entertaining."

"She literally told me my deflections are caveats to my really rough, self-deprecating perceptions which are only given when someone doesn't give into my subject changes and holds me to the real issue. The issue being and I quote 'you need to talk to Rachel or send this. One or the other because doing nothing isn't working Quinn.'

"Compelling," Rachel supplied to compliment with respect.

"There was a lot of annoying self-discovery while we didn't talk. I remember Spencer and I would have convos and she'd slip you in. We'd talk about a book and I would say I'd give it a whatever out of ten. I would have liked to have written a dark, analytical novel about how a society free of war, murder, insanity and the like is a result of eradicating religion or deeming religious zealots as mentally unstable. Not that Freud was amazing by any stretch." Oooo wine. Thanks for the bits of ADD."But a field of science that's built on the back of a man who loved cocaine…well..he did essentially say those who cling to religion and life after death are perpetually stuck in an infantile stage and live in fantasy because they're unable to emotionally and mentally face reality."

"Mmm," Rachel cut in with a cerebral look as she finished her wine. "That's gloomy." She looked at me in a challenge. "But isn't life a miraculous thing."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling, taking off where Rachel was eluding to. "I think you already know." With an eyebrow lift I waited for Rachel to burst into song.

"Life's a show and we all play our part. And when the music starts we open up our hearts. It's alright if some things come out wrong, we'll sing a happy song. And you can sing along." She sang.

"You know…I adore you. Don't change, you are such a musical snob and Broadway's baby. But I love how you know obscure musicals from cult shows," And I had to move around the counter to kiss Rachel's cheek as she snuck her hands around my waist and pulled me in.

"I'm glad you appreciate it. But back to topic," she said as she pulled me to the couch now that we had both finished our wine.

I grabbed the blanket and threw it over her legs. It was bought specifically for her and the chronic lack of body heat.

"Mmm," I replied, tracing back to the initial topic. "I told Spencer Arthur C Clark already wrote in. It would be redundant and unoriginal to simply write a darker version. There's some great quotes in the book. A few I could relate to. I never learned enough in high school to feel at home." I admitted and felt Rachel burrow into my side. "Spencer accused me of respecting words and concepts more the real people and it was clearly a set up because I said that's not true. There's at least two if not three people who I value more than literature. Of course she made me say who and I said you and her and I'll leave room for a hypothetical someone else."

"You big brain."

"Well Spencer kept poking. 'how can you respect someone you don't talk to, but hold in such regard Quinn.' " I tried to imitate Spencer's voice.

"Because Rachel's smart. She's always been magnificent. On a higher level than anyone else, ready for life, craving experience when most of our high school years were about complacency. She's funny. Genuinely witty. Prettier than she has any clue. And raw. Rachel was always willing to feel more than me, but her talent created a barrier too." I closed my eyes remember acutely what I said in college. "Rachel believes in better. More. And before you ask I'm not sending her my overtly earnest thing. She glared at me and said it's a charming thing Quinn. And I remember wishing I had never showed it to her and having to explain if I sent it and you didn't respond it…it would hurt in a way I wasn't prepared for. So it sat on my phone for months until I wrote it in a letter thinking…I don't know…that I should have it in a drawer and not on me at all times. Some days I wanted to send it and thought it would give closure. Because what sane person thinks yes, I should be with this person even though their parents take offense to them? Having a secret relationship is better than nothing. And I felt we wasted so much time," I said as I picked at the blanket.

"Quinn. Listen to me. I'm glad you sent it. I'm glad you needed to write it. All the other things…the side things…my parents love you. And yes, it took time babe but it wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Spencer's pushing, Santana calling it the dark ages, you writing and all of it. I love you and your occasionally chaotic mind." Rachel leaned in and kissed me. "We have to be up early. We're going to sleep in our bed soon and it's all been worth it."

The End

* * *

Note: It was quick, more about Quinn's writing process and how they've grown.


End file.
